


This Place is a Lover's Oasis

by rowofstars



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alice in Wonderland References, Angst, F/M, Post-Episode AU: s04e16 The Waters of Mars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor is hiding from his inevitable future in a place from his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Place is a Lover's Oasis

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [](http://anepidemic.livejournal.com/profile)[anepidemic](http://anepidemic.livejournal.com/) . This stopped and started a lot this week, and may very well be a bit cracked.

The prompt:

 

 

 

There is a tree that stands by the side of a lonely dirt road, leafless and crooked. Fields of tall grass stretch out in all directions, bending in the steady breeze, their slender tips pointing like fingers towards the west. Nearby there is an old blue farm house leaning tiredly to the left, its paint peeling in slow strips.

Beneath the tree, in a meager strip of shade, sits a long wooden table covered with a flowered fabric. The chairs surrounding it are mismatched and weathered, but pulled back from the table’s edge and turned ever so slightly, inviting their guests to join them.

This is where he has come to hide.

This is where she finds him.

 

 

 

_They've been walking for hours towards some destination he keeps swearing is just over the next hill, around the next bend and really not very much longer if she would just stop frowning at him like that. He pouts, insisting that Time Lords are never lost, and she's starting to realize that species be damned, men the universe over are very much the same. When he happily exclaims they've arrived she can scarcely believe it._

_Grin firmly in place, he strides forward and plops down in an armed chair at one end of a long table beneath a peculiar looking tree. There's a tea service set out and a tiered silver tray with little cakes._

_He pops one in his mouth and motions for her to sit._

 

 

 

She steps off the front porch of the house and approaches carefully. There is something both familiar and wrong about this place that sends a chill down her spine. He grins and it’s more manic than friendly, his eyes sparkling with a touch of madness as he stands. She realizes then that it’s not the place that is wrong, it’s him.

She ducks under the lampshade hanging low over the table as she sits in the chair nearest to him. An array of cups and saucers, plates and pitchers is spread over the flowered tablecloth, with a shiny silver tea service at the far end. Glancing above the peculiar little tea party, she finds random bits of furniture scattered dementedly amongst the branches.

She raises an eyebrow at the bed swaying gently overhead and he laughs. “Do you like my tree house, Rose?”

 

 

 

_She has to admit that it really is the best tea and cakes she's ever had. He smiles at her over the rim of his cup, leaning back in his chair and resting his feet on the edge of the table._

_“Are you ready to leave,” he asks, peeking at her between the faded leather toes of his plimsolls._

_She shakes her head, laughs, and slips another chocolaty treat onto her plate._

 

 

The sun is high and bright, but the rays that settle over her legs feel empty and cold. There is no warmth to this place and she shivers, sipping gingerly at a cup of tasteless tea. She folds her hands in her lap and looks off in the distance, over the endless grassy plains.

“I'm dying,” he says finally, voice heavy with resignation and understanding.

“I know,” she replies. Her hand stretches over the worn pink flowers and twisting green vines to fold around his. “That's why I'm here isn't it?”

 

 

 

_They walk back under the shadows of dusk, arm in arm, and lamenting the number of sweets sitting restlessly in their stomachs. Somehow the return trip is shorter, and she can't help teasing him as he looks back down the road with a frown._

His hearts stutter when she looks up at him, eyes wide and dancing with the sparkle of strange stars. All it takes is a small tug on her hand and then her lips are pressed against his, tasting of tea and cakes and moonlight.

 

 

 

He tells her the mess he's made of everything, Donna, Adelaide, the little ginger haired boy on Olima Prime, and she listens quietly, squeezing his fingers in all the right places. Each word is a weight lifted from his shoulders, and for a while he can fool himself into believing they never existed, that it was always just him and her and endless possibility.

But time doesn't move gracefully anymore.

The numbers fall free, settling at the bottom of the clock and choking the hours into silence. The minute hand twitches impatiently, eager to move him forward towards his end. Time mocks him with its stillness, but allows this one last fleeting moment, a paltry sum for his sacrifices.

She watches him stand and move around the corner of the table, and it’s impossible to resist the pull of his long arms and the delicious pressure on her ribs as he lifts her, crushing her to him.

“Stay,” he mumbles into wavy strands of blonde hair, holding his breath until he feels her nod.

 

 

 

When she wakes, he is gone and so is the niggling, unsettled feeling. The morning is overcast, the clouds ominous and dark, rolling across the sky, and she knows that soon this place won’t exist. She climbs down from the dangling bed cautiously, but still slips on the last branch, tearing her jeans and scraping her knee. She hisses at the sting and presses her hand over the ragged lines.

The wind bends around her, still sweeping the dust westward. She can see edges and corners, the walls splitting as everything starts to unravel. She takes a moment to stare down the road, her eyes following the heavy footprints left behind as they wander towards the fuzzy horizon.

She doesn’t have to wonder where the road leads, or the intentions that lay upon it.

 

 

 

The step through the battered old screen door takes only a second, and then she’s stumbling out the other side into waiting arms. He holds her tight as she clutches at the lapels of his blue jacket. There are questions that can wait and some he already knows the answers to.

Time heals all wounds, even its own.


End file.
